


Paying Customers Only

by Purpleologist



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Barista Lance (Voltron), Bisexual Allura (Voltron), Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Female Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, I know nothing about coffee, Lance (Voltron) is a Dork, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Mentioned Allura/Romelle, Mentioned Veronica/Rizavi, One-Sided Allura/Lance (Voltron), Pidge (Voltron) Is A Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2019-02-10
Packaged: 2019-09-27 07:30:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17157842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Purpleologist/pseuds/Purpleologist
Summary: Lance loved his job at Altea Cafe, though in all fairness, the word "cafe" was a bit of an overstatement, but when a new customer starts to make regular appearances, he starts to get distracted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this _ages_ ago (before season eight oh my g o d) but posted it on Voltron Amino for a Secret Santa event, so this is for [FestiveBee](https://aminoapps.com/c/voltron-legendary-defenders/page/user/xfestivessee/LxRe_XWsYfYz3EVWnM8L5vKVGgVabkWrkLfP)! I hope you have a very Merry Christmas!

Lance loved his job at Altea Café, though in all fairness, the word ‘café’ was a bit of an overstatement. It was undoubtedly more of a glorified coffeeshop, though its layout offered a multitude of comfortable seating options for customers that actually had time to sit and chat over their morning dose of caffeine. The décor was woodsy and rustic despite being smack-dab in the middle of a shopping center barely fifteen minutes away from downtown, the clientele was always on one device or another, and Lance could only assume that the people monotonously talking into their headsets while curtly giving him their order were just too wrapped up in their conference calls to properly thank him for making their coffee.

But the people who do thank him? Well, they’re honestly his favorite people.

See, Altea Café isn’t a chain store, like Starbucks or Dunkin Donuts (“Quiznaking Starbucks,” Allura muttered bitterly on the slow mornings as she watched cars race by in the rain, not a soul sparing the shop without a drive-through a second glance in the torrential downpour. Lance had long since gotten used to her odd curses and lilting accent that turned his name into something new, though it never ceased to put an amused grin on his face). Allura’s parents had started the small-town business and though they’d passed on when she was just barely an adult, she’d had the help of one of their close friends to keep it going in their memory. Lance, also just barely an adult, was in dire need of a job when he’d thankfully heard about the quaint store needing some more help (through Pidge, whose favored GameStop was just across the street and who’d noticed the “Help Wanted” sign in the window. The little gremlin hadn’t told Lance about it until after a week of him bemoaning his impending bills, but she’d told him nonetheless. Only, of course, after explaining that she expected a new video game in return) and applied. Allura insisted Lance hadn’t been the only applicant, but they both knew that he wasn’t exactly the best barista in the world and, if she had been able, he probably would’ve been replaced in week one.

But, as a general lover of people, Lance made it work. He was charismatic, charming, and an all-around great person (He’d told his sister Veronica as much on one occasion and she’d fallen off the couch laughing, immediately calling up her girlfriend to say “Nadia, you’ll never guess what Lance said this time!”). He enjoyed being able to talk to people, and thanks to the fact that this establishment was much better suited to the type that enjoyed to sit down and chat, it gave him plenty of people to talk to.

In the event that nobody wanted to strike up a conversation, he often resorted to people-watching (and no, it wasn’t stalking, as Pidge or Allura or even Hunk would lead you to believe. It was merely… watching the general population with a respectful amount of interest in their lives).

Today was one such day, when the sky was gray and dreary and the only people inside were the ones who truly wanted to be here. Soft music fell in through the speakers, probably something close to some form of jazz. It wasn’t what he usually listened to, but it was nice nonetheless. As to be expected on a day that promised snow, the amount of people inside could be counted on one hand, which included him and Allura behind the counter as they lazily traded bets back on forth on how long it would take for the skies to open.

Eventually, though, Allura had to tend to actual work (which was typically required of the sole owner of a small business, and Lance could hardly fault her for not keeping up the weak banter) and Lance quickly found his head in his hands as his elbows grew sore on the countertop, blue eyes wandering over the cozy interior.

He passed on the businessman who was clearly absorbed in his work, staring dumbly at his laptop screen in a bored haze, and he passed on the woman mutedly gossiping on her phone as she flipped through a magazine and sipped on her coffee, as if this was the nail salon next door.

And so, Lance found himself staring at the young man hiding in the back corner (though it wasn’t really the back. The counter was in the back, and the table at which the man sat left his back to the front window, hazy light pouring in and framing his features aesthetically).

He appeared to be about Lance’s age, with his shaggy black hair pulled back into a low and sloppy ponytail and dark eyes trained on the glowing computer screen in front of him. Lance could easily tell by his lack of tan that he probably spent about as much time inside as Pidge and the bags under his eyes probably meant he got as much as sleep as she did too (and if the younger girl could hear him now, she’d probably either agree with him or smack him). His lips were pursed and sometimes he frowned (he never smiled, Lance noted ruefully, and that was a goddamn shame because a mouth like that had to look good all stretched out in a grin). Unlike most other customers around Lance’s age, he didn’t have earbuds in (and no, he didn’t have headphones on either. Mama didn’t quite know the difference but based on the fact that Lance had been reduced to stealing Pidge’s instead of using the ones she continued to give him for years now said enough about the chances of her ever learning it), but if Lance squinted and leaned up on the counter a bit he could almost see the logo of one emo band or another on his black t-shirt. It went well with the black ripped jeans he had hidden under the table and what Lance could only assume were matching combat boots shadowed down there as well.

“I see you’ve noticed our resident emo,” Allura said, depositing some washed mugs on the counter and crossing her arms as she followed Lance’s gaze. “He’s come in a couple times before, but I don’t think he’s ever ordered anything.”

“Yeah, I don’t think he came up to the counter,” Lance agreed, knowing full well that if that face had come within three feet of him, he probably would’ve short-circuited.

“Damn,” she breathed, frowning in that way that was less of her lips going down and more like one end going way up. Lance didn’t even bother to hide the way his own lips quirked at the odd behavior, silently loving the almost alien way Allura acted at times. “You’re gonna have to tell him to get out.”

“WHAT?” Lance shrieked, flinching under the shocked and sudden looks he earned from the few café patrons. Thoroughly shamed (because as much as he thrived being the center of attention, being stared at for yelling in the middle of his workplace was not the kind of attention he wanted), he lowered his voice and tried again. “Why do I have to kick him out?”

“Because the wi-fi is for paying customers only!” she reminded him, lightly tapping the counter where the little sign sat, written in her elegant, curling script. “Plus, you are much more charming than I am.” She flashed a knowing smile that did absolutely nothing to back her statement and Lance scowled.

“I know you don’t really mean that, but I’m going to pretend you do for my own sake.” He grumbled, sighing as he slid out from behind the counter.

“You do that, sweetie.” She told him, earning a petty stuck-out tongue as he turned and crossed the suddenly-vast coffeeshop floor.

If Lance only hated one thing, it was being mean to customers, even the horribly grouchy ones with bad attitudes and permanent frowns. It was mostly because, in his own experience, the very last thing he needed on a good OR bad day was for somebody to come and rain on his parade. And it was always doubly hard when the person he had to be “be mean to” was unfairly attractive (though there was surely a way he could get through this being polite and courteous. There just had to be.) His sneakers squeaked on the linoleum (or at least, he thought it was linoleum. He wasn’t exactly well-versed in floor types) and the man looked up as he approached, eyes filled with wary uncertainty.

“Yes?” He asked expectantly, and Lance could feel the words in his throat die when their eyes met because goddamn. From across the store, it was impossible to tell what color they were, only that they were dark. If Lance were to have hazarded a guess, he probably would’ve gone with dark brown or perhaps even a stormy gray if he was feeling particularly creative. But these… he could have never even dreamed of eyes like these. They were indeed dark, undoubtedly bordering on gray, but deep within them shone nearly-indescribable flecks of purple and indigo, colors that Lance would’ve never even considered to be for eyes, and yet with the young man’s intense gaze it worked perfectly, like staring into the depth of space and seeing nothing but darkness and stars.

Allura’s smothered laugh from behind the counter snapped him out of his reverie and Lance found his voice by some miracle. “Um, I’m really sorry to say this, but, uh… the wi-fi’s for paying customers only,” the man’s gaze dropped to the tabletop almost guiltily and he frowned in a way that was almost more like pouting and oh how Lance wished he could turn that frown upside down. “Unless you’d like to order something, I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave."

The man sighed and glanced out at the cloudy sky, “Yeah, I’ll… I’ll get something.” He said, resigned.

“Oh,” Lance was honestly a little surprised by this outcome, but vainly tried to maintain his composure regardless, “What’ll you have, then?”

“Um…” he squinted at the menu, then turned back to Lance with a weak smile. I was right, Lance celebrated silently, his smile is gorgeous. “What do you suggest?”

It took him an embarrassingly long time to realize his opinion had been asked for and even longer to decide between the myriad of options that Allura offered, but finally he landed on “The Klanmüirl mocha. Chocolate is a life saver and I don’t skimp on the whipped cream, scout’s honor.” He saluted with a small grin, earning a soft chuckle.

“Well then, medium mocha it is.”

“Got it. I’ll bring that right over.” He promised, shooting the man a weak thumb’s up before slinking back to the counter, where Allura and her mockery awaited.

“What was that?” She asked, not even waiting for him to open his mouth (not that she would’ve been able to get a word in edgewise if he had, she knew that. Once he started talking, Lance didn’t stop for anything).

“Me being a bisexual disaster.” He deadpanned, making the drink as steadily as he could, still feeling the ghost of the man’s gaze on his back.

“Well I know that, but that,” Allura whistled, the smile more than evident in her voice, “That was a class of disaster all its own. Not even I could be that disastrous.”

“That’s because you’re a composed bi, ‘Lura,” he joked. “Romelle will second me.” Allura’s girlfriend was sweet as could be, but a bit wild. Compared to the two of them, Allura was easily the most mature.

“Oh, hush,” she smacked his shoulder lightly and shook her head. “Give pretty boy his coffee and get back here. It’s your turn to clean the bathroom.”

“It’s always my turn to clean the bathroom.” Lance moaned, glaring at her as he covered the top of the mocha in his usual amount of whipped cream— AKA a hell of a lot.

“Yes, but I’m the boss, hence it’s never my turn to clean to bathroom.” She pointed out, grinning.

“I rescind all past love confessions, I hate you.” He told her with a smile, rolling his eyes and heading back over the mystery man with the gorgeous eyes. At least he’d have something to distract himself with as he did the menial chore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His next day started as most of his days did.  
> “My usual,” an owl-eyed gremlin requested.  
> “Pidge, no,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first contribution to Klance AU Month! This is for the first prompt, "Coffee Shop" (obviously), and because I'm lazy, I'm just continuing this fic!

His next day started as most of his days did.

“My usual,” an owl-eyed gremlin requested.

“Pidge, no,” he told her sternly, crossing his arms despite the to-go cup hidden on the counter beside him.

“Dammit Lance, give me my coffee,” she insisted, her hazel eyes glinting dangerously beneath her glasses (everyone knew that she’d just stolen them from her brother after he got laser eye surgery, but Pidge always claimed blindness when someone brought them up).

“Twelve shots of espresso is _not_ coffee,” Lance insisted.

“It sure as hell is. Now give me my coffee and I’ll give you a ridiculous amount of money that would undoubtedly be better spent on video games and we can both go on our ways.” Her morning crabbiness was undoubtedly caused by the lack of coffee in her hands and Lance knew that if he sent her back to Hunk in this state, he’d never hear the end of it.

Defeated, he handed over the monstrous cup.  “Tell Hunk I’ll be on time for dinner tonight.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Pidge mumbled, taking a large sip of the over-caffeinated drink. She turned around to leave and spotted the man from yesterday settling into his (apparently) usual spot. A wicked grin overtook her face and Lance immediately blanched. “Is that him?”

Already regretting his decision to mention the man with the beautiful indigo eyes last night, Lance shook his head violently. “Nope, just another customer. I should probably go make sure I get his order.”

Pidge’s grin only continued to broaden, reminding him of the Cheshire Cat’s smile. “I’m going to go say hi,”she announced.

“Pidge, _no_.”

“Pidge, yes,” she began to march over to the table determinedly and Lance practically leapt over the counter, pulling back on her short arm to slow her.

“Let go!” She cried, struggling to tear away from his grip and keep her stupid coffee from spilling. The man looked up in surprise, having noticed the commotion gradually nearing him. It took one curious raised eyebrow from him for Lance to surrender his hold on Pidge, letting her stumble and catch herself on the back of a nearby chair.

“I swear, I’m not attacking her,” he instantly denied, earning a silent chuckle and small smile.

“Liar,” Pidge muttered, somehow having not spilled a drop of her drink. “I’m Pidge, this idiot is Lance, and I _really_ hope you’re not a serial killer.”

“Um… why?” The man asked, cautious despite being clearly amused.

“Because I can’t be friends with a serial killer,” she reasoned, shrugging. “Though the fact that you didn’t give me your name isn’t helping your case.” Lance fought the urge to groan or smother her with his barista apron or straight-up shove her out the door. Sometimes she was worse than Rachel, though usually Rachel wasn’t as absurd with her introductions.

“I’m Keith and… I’ll get back to you on the serial killer part,” he told her with a joking smile.

“Well, Keith, I bid you the best of luck surviving him,” she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder at Lance.

“Hey!” He objected, pouting as the girl whirled around and grinned.

“Oh, like Hunk would’ve said any different.” She told him not-at-all sympathetically, backing out of the door and taking a giant sip of her coffee. Lance scowled after her for several moments before he was interrupted. By _Keith_.

“She seems… Fun,” he said. “Is she your girlfriend?”

“What!?” Lance cried, almost shocked by the accusation. “No! Pidge… She’s like my _sister_! Hell, she might as well be one of my sisters, she conspires with them enough.”

Keith laughed, and Lance swore that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever heard. “Then would that make the white-haired girl behind the counter your girlfriend?” He didn’t seem to quite believe what he was saying and this time it was Lance’s turn to laugh.

“Allura? Nah, she’s just my friend… and my boss,” he explained. “Though, trust me, I’m well aware that she’s _way_ out of my league.”

“That’s not true.” Keith instantly denied, though he immediately seemed to regret saying it. Lance didn’t miss the way that his heart skipped a beat as his imagination began to run wild, and so he did the first thing he thought of. Change the subject.

“So, um, what do you want to drink?” He asked, praying that Allura hadn’t been able to see that train wreck (though he knew the security cameras were always available should she want to see his disastrous self on repeat. It wouldn’t be the first time).

“Oh, um,” he seemed just as lost as yesterday, completely unsure of what to order yet again.

“Mocha again?” Lance offered.

Keith hesitated a moment and nodded.

“Got it.” He offered a grin and turned around, letting out a sigh of relief as he slipped behind the counter to prepare the drink. He could thank his lucky star that Pidge hadn’t completely screwed it up. Not that there was much _to_ screw up, but Lance would be damned if he let this opportunity pass him by.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter, but this is all I could come up with. I apologize for my crappy chapter endings, but hey, at least I have two other chapter ideas in the works?  
> I'm thinking this is just gonna be a bunch of "random days where Keith and Lance have Moments in this stupid coffee shop", so please be aware that there is no overarching plot besides these two idiots being themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> I do have a second chapter in the works, but if you've read anything else by me, you'll know by now that I don't really have a habit of finishing these things, so my advice is to enjoy it as it is, leave me some comments, and subscribe in case I ever do add something!  
> Happy Holidays to everyone!


End file.
